Through A Closed Door
by Jane Krahe
Summary: Derek enters his first Alpha heat and foists the pack off on Stiles. Cue Stiles being a third (seventh?) wheel and deciding that talking to Derek from the other side of the Hale front door is better than sitting at home and feeling left out.


"What the hell is this?"

Stiles' backpack hung on the crook of his elbow, tugging his sweatshirt down off his shoulder. The door to his house still sat open behind him. He'd been about to shut it but was distracted; it seemed a pack of wolf-pups had taken over his living room.

"We needed a place to crash." That was Erica, sprawled across Boyd on the couch. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the TV which was showing, of all things, An American Werewolf in London.

"Why?" Stiles asked slowly, dragging the word out as he shut the front door.

"Derek said so." This was from Isaac, who sat on the floor in front of the armchair occupied by Scott, leaning against the boy's legs. Stiles pointedly ignored this, the way he'd been ignoring every sign of how close the two had become.

"And why did Derek say so?" Stiles prompted when no one else spoke.

"Because he's humping the walls," Jackson snickered. He sat on the loveseat, curled up with Lydia. Another image Stiles ignored.

Lydia elbowed Jackson in the ribs and corrected, "Derek is in his first heat as an Alpha, and he needed his space."

Stiles let that sink in for a moment. Heat. He'd considered it when Scott had first turned, but Scott had never shown any signs of it, and his full-moon-madness had been difficult enough to deal with that Stiles had never brought it up. "Alphas go into heat?"

Lydia nodded, eyes still on the TV, hand in a bowl of popcorn. "Apparently it's just an Alpha thing. I think he'd forgotten about it because he was in the middle of a sentence, then his eyes flashed red and he said everyone had to get out _now_. We all went outside then a few minutes later he came out and said he was going into heat and he needed to be alone for a while. Said everyone should crash at your place."

Stiles was torn between his intense curiosity over Derek's condition, and anger that these wolves had been thrust on him. He focused on the anger. "What the hell, man? My dad is the Sherriff, I can't have a bunch of teen runaways and supposedly dead lacrosse stars on my couch!"

"Dude, I thought your dad knew now." Stiles glared at Scott, who was idly playing with one of Isaac's curls.

Stiles gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. He wasn't sure why, but the whole thing grated on him. He didn't _want_ them there. And at first he couldn't figure out why.

And then Isaac layed his head on Scott's knee and closed his eyes, and Erica turned her head to press her nose to Boyd's neck. And it hit him.

Them being there just reminded him that he was alone. And it felt horrible.

"I don't have the money to feed all of you for however long Derek is humping the walls," he tried, though his voice was less shrill and more defeated.

Erica held up a wad of cash. "He said it's about a week, but he'd let us know. He sent this over to cover the food."

Stiles glared at the money. It was a lot, clearly a roll of hundreds. But that made it worse. It was like he was a babysitter, being paid to spend time with people who were supposed to be his friends. "Whatever," he finally said, and he couldn't keep the edge of bitterness from his voice. "I've got homework to do." He turned and headed upstairs, ignoring the conversations that picked back up once he was gone. Stupid Derek and his stupid pack.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

After school the next day, Stiles went to the grocery store. He'd woken that morning to find the roll of cash had found its way into his wallet, because apparently Erica is a pickpocket, so he'd decided if he couldn't get rid of them, he'd have to feed them. He loaded up a basket with as much protein as possible. They got cranky without it. In the deli, he stared at a bucket of fried chicken. _I wonder if Derek is hungry_, he thought. _Being constantly horny must take it out of you, right? And there's no one there to make sure he eats_. Stiles ended up buying the bucket, along with a tub of macaroni salad. On his way back, he drove up to the Hale house. They hadn't said where Derek was riding out the wave of hormones, but Stiles had a feeling it would be there. He walked up to the porch and knocked on the door.

Derek sat on the floor, leaning against the door of his old house. His hands were clenched tight together, claws digging into his own flesh. Stiles was outside the door, the idiot, and he had a bucket of fried chicken with him. He even knocked on the damn door. Derek knew he should open it and tell him how absolutely stupid he was being but he was too out of control. He could smell everything about Stiles, and it made the hair on his arms stand up. He took a deep breath and bit his lip to keep from growling. "Um… Derek?" Derek rolled his eyes as the voice filtered through the wood. "I know I probably shouldn't be here with you all… impulse-driven and whatnot. But I figured you'd be hungry. Yeah." Derek heard the food being set down on the porch, and Stiles turn to leave. But then he came back and this time his voice was agitated. "But you know, it would have been nice to have some sort of warning before your pack invaded my house. Coming home to see a furry love-fest all over my living room wasn't exactly a delight. And the next time you start humping the furniture, you find somewhere else to send your strays, got it?"

Stiles did walk away then, and Derek heard the jeep start up and peel away. He was drawn out of his animal haze for a moment, because Stiles' words confused him. He hadn't consciously thought about it, but Stiles was slowly becoming pack to him. He already was to the rest of the wolves. But the way Stiles spoke, he didn't seem to have any idea.

Derek waited until the sounds of the Jeep had faded before he opened the door and brought in the food.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Stiles resisted the urge to go back to the Hale house for another two days. But on the third day the pack had been there, he came home to find Jackson and Lydia making out on his bed. It was all he could do to get out to his car before he started crying. He sped out of the driveway the moment he could, driving in no particular direction. So it was a bit of a surprise when he looked up a few minutes later and he was sitting in front of the Hale house. He sighed and got out of the car, heading up to the porch.

Derek was on the stairs this time, having come down when he heard the car approach. He sat halfway down the stairs as Stiles came up onto the porch. He didn't do anything at first, and Derek wondered what he was doing there.

Then he started to speak.

"I really hope you're not listening," he said, and Derek could hear tears in his voice. "But I just feel like I need to rant right now and unfortunately my best friend is off braiding Isaac's hair or something so I really don't have anyone to rant to." Derek heard Stiles sit down on the porch.

"I don't understand. Does being a werewolf make you just completely oblivious to humans? Like, do they even register with you? I used to think the changes were all physical. Some extra hair, a few teeth, some weird hormones. But the more I'm around you, the more it seems like you're just… you're not…." He laughed and it wasn't an amused sound. "You're not human. And it's like the longer you're wolves, the less human you are. The less you care. Or if you were born that way, you don't give a shit at all. I just –" He growled a little in frustration. "A year ago I'd have given anything for all this shit. Anything. I was actually _happy_ when Scott was turned. Because it was a break from the norm, anything to make life exciting. But now it's…" He sighed. "A year ago I'd have killed for the friendship I have with Lydia. But now I'm not sure I even want it. Because it just makes it all so much worse. Seeing her with Jackson now, knowing up close what we could – and then finding them –" He stopped again and was silent for a long time. Derek was about to head upstairs when Stiles' voice started again, small and young.

"It's like I have all these people around me and I'm more alone than ever."

He fell silent again and Derek sat there, listening to him breath and fighting the clawing urge to rip the door open and yank him inside. Fortunately, the thoughts swirling in his head over what Stiles had said muted the lust a little. Stiles felt alone? For some reason, that bothered Derek. Stiles was pack, right? Pack should never feel alone, they should always feel like if they reach out, they'll be able to touch flesh and blood and smell wolf right beside them.

Derek licked his lips and everything in him wanted to call out, to tell Stiles he was wrong. But he resisted, because it was dangerous to have contact with anyone just then_. Especially Stiles_, a tiny part of him said, but he shoved that aside.

Stiles got up and dusted off his jeans. He glanced back at the door, standing silent and still, and somehow a bit disapproving. Exactly what Derek would have been like. "Not like you care," he muttered, and headed back to his Jeep.

Inside the house, Derek frowned. But he _did_. Stiles was pack, and if he wasn't feeling like pack then Derek wasn't doing his job. But he had no idea how to fix it.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Two days later, Stiles sat at his kitchen table rubbing his temples. There were too many people in his house. Too many. He'd always hated crowds. Crowded rooms reminded him of his mom's hospital room, the way it had always been filled with her relatives, bustling around and generally getting in the way. And the way his house had been filled with people he barely knew in the days after her death. And the way those visits dwindled, until a few months later, no one came at all. His father had no family left, and after his mother had died, her family had apparently decided that Stiles and his father didn't need them. Stiles suspected maybe they hadn't liked his father. It didn't really matter. The result was the same. And it made crowded rooms hell.

His father was there now, chatting happily with Lydia as the two of them dished up dinner. Jackson and Boyd and Erica were talking about some wolf thing or another, while Scott and Isaac discussed some TV show. No one was speaking to Stiles. His father turned back to the stove to grab the final dish. Lydia sat down and Stiles looked around. And realized that everyone's plate had been filled except his.

It shouldn't hurt, he knew that. The wolves had been shoving their plates at Lydia and the Sheriff the moment food had been mentioned, while Stiles had sat there silently. It shouldn't hurt. But after five days of watching wolves pair off, of watching his best friend ignore him in favor of some new pretty boy with big eyes, of watching his dream girl fawn over her perfect boyfriend, he just couldn't take it. He stood, shoving his chair back hard with a loud sound of scraping wood. The room got quiet as all eyes turned to him. "No!," Stiles exclaimed, eyes red. "No, you go ahead, you have a nice dinner. I'm just gonna head out. _Don't mind me_."

And he waited for a moment because surely, someone would say something. Someone would ask what was wrong. And his father opened his mouth, presumably to do just that. But before he could, Jackson piped up. "Fine," he said, sounding both annoyed and amused. "We will then."

Stiles nodded quickly, biting his lip. He headed for the door, grabbing his hoodie on the way. He slammed it shut behind him and practically ran down the walk to his jeep. As he got in, he heard the door open and his name being called but he ignored it. He tugged the sweatshirt on and sped off.

Derek's claws were buried in the wall of an upstairs room when he heard the jeep. His heat was almost over, but the last remnants of hormones and instinct running through him was wearing him out. He yanked his hands from the blackened wood, cocking his head to listen. The jeep braked hard and Stiles jumped out of the car, slamming the door. He ran to the porch and stomped across it, then banged on the door.

"I know you're in there!" he shouted, sounding furious and hurt and a lot of other things Derek couldn't focus on. "Come out so I can yell at you!" There was a beat, then, "I don't know what about, but I need to yell at someone, and you're the Alpha so it should be you!"

Derek headed quietly downstairs. Stiles' tone worried him. Not the anger but the hurt underneath it. It was a deep hurt. This had been building for a long time. Derek put his hand on the door. His body was so tense, so sensitive he thought he could feel Stiles' heartbeat through the wood.

"I can't take this," Stiles said, pacing across the porch. "You goddamn wolves will be the death of me. And that's not even an exaggeration; you probably will! Not that it'll matter or that anyone will notice. Isaac will do something cute or Erica and Boyd will get into an arm-wrestling contest or Jackson and Lydia will start screwing right there in front of everyone and my dead body will just lay there, all broken and bloody while you all laugh at whatever stupid thing Scott says." He stopped, panting slightly.

Derek wanted to say something but had no words. Words had never been good to him, and he knew if he said the wrong thing now it was would do far more damage than was healthy.

"I hate you." Stiles' voice was soft and a little broken. "I hate _this_. Because it doesn't matter. I can bitch and moan about it all I want, but I'm still going to go home and I'm still going to take care of them. Because I don't have anyone else."

Stiles turned away then and fuck, Derek couldn't just let him walk away, he couldn't. He took a deep breath and opened the door. "Wait."

Stiles froze just before the steps. He didn't turned around but he said coldly, "That's really sick. Listening to all that and ignoring it."

"I'm not ignoring it," Derek said, keeping his voice low and soothing. "I didn't have enough control to talk to you before, but my heat is almost over. And I don't want you to walk away like this, Stiles."

The boy turned, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. "Why not?" he demanded.

Derek tried to put it into words. "Because you're pack. I'm supposed to take care of you."

Stiles laughed bitterly. "I'm not one of your pups," he said. "You don't have to pretend to give a shit about me."

That pissed Derek off, so he clung to that. It was something he understood. He lunged forward and grabbed Stiles, yanking him into the house. He slammed the boy into the door, shutting it. Leaning in he growled, "You don't get to decide what I care about, _pup_. And you don't get to decide who my pack is."

Stiles expression shifted. His brown eyes were into Derek's appraisingly. He wasn't scared, but he was… _intrigued_? "Prove it," Stiles challenged him.

Derek considered using words – but they failed him too often, and this wasn't the time to trust them. So instead, he leaned in and kissed him. The tendrils of his heat were still there, but he couldn't blame it on that. Deep down, he knew this was a long time coming. And apparently, so did Stiles, because the boy's arms came up to wrap around Derek's neck and he immediately kissed him back.

Derek's claws curled in Stiles' shirt as the boy whimpered softly and arched against him. Derek smiled slightly against his mouth. He thought _this_ was Derek proving it. There was a whole lot more to come.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Stiles limped into his house, shutting the door softly behind him. It was one in the morning, and his dad was at work. His body ached and his mouth felt bruised. He could also smell Derek on him, even without a wolf's nose. He smiled slightly, taking a deep breath.

"You stink like sex." Jackson's voice drifted from the living room. Stiles turned and headed to the doorway, leaning on it to look in. The pack was sprawled all over the furniture again, this time watching The Howling.

"Like sex and Derek," added Erica, eyes on the screen.

"Got anything to say, loverboy?" Jackson prodded, a half-smile on his face. He turned to look at Stiles, and Stiles could see actual affection in his eyes.

Stiles just smiled and shook his head, heading to the stairs. He heard Erica call, "I want details!", followed quickly by Scott announcing that he very much _didn't_.

Stiles ignored them and headed to his room. His side was hurting and he was really surprised no one mentioned it. Maybe the smell of sex and Derek was that strong that they hadn't smelled the dried blood on his skin.

Stiles headed into his room and shut the door behind him. He walked over to his mirror. The moon hung heavy in the sky, so he didn't even turn on a light. He lifted his shirt, examining the wide bite mark under his ribs. It ached badly, throbbing with a dull sort of pain. He lowered his shirt and glanced out the window. He wasn't going to have long to wait. A few days.

He could still hear Derek's voice. "If this is what it takes to prove it to you…."

Stiles looked at his reflection in the mirror. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was pale. But that would change soon.

Pack indeed.


End file.
